


Any Way You Want It

by cosmotronic



Series: Journeys [7]
Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Holtzbert Week, Light Dom/sub, Roleplay, Scrumptious Crumpet Erin, Sex Toys, Smut, Strap-Ons, Subby Cupcake Holtz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 13:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11510508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmotronic/pseuds/cosmotronic
Summary: It’s not the way they always come together, but when they do she melts for it, begs for it, demands that her lover give her everything. That is exactly what they both want from this game.Holtzbert Week Day Seven.





	Any Way You Want It

**Author's Note:**

> In case you were wondering what happened to me this week, I came down with a case of the fluffs, okay?
> 
> I'm over it. Thank you for your patience.
> 
> Today I give you the Professor. In all it's filthy fucking glory.

 

Her lover looks incredible.

Stunning, from the ground up. Wearing heels that, while not obviously painful, certainly do not look much fun to walk about in all day. A sheen of satin smoothed over the pale skin of her calves, a burnish that she hopes, no, _prays_ is a pair of high stockings and not tights.

The cut and lines of the skirt are old fashioned as they fall about her, the blazer frumpy. But the clothes hug her body well, curve of hip, swell of breast; subtle contours enticing from beneath the dull patterns.

That fucking bow tie.

Above it, the inviting hollow of her throat, a strong jaw, red lips parted and plump. Her lover has straightened her hair for the occasion, to frame her features and fall long and loose over her narrow shoulders.

She swallows, whispers.

“Glasses…”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

Slim fingers pull the steel and amber frames from a gentle face and the vision is complete. It’s not perfect, the skirt falls a little too low on the leg and the sleeves are too long and the stance is distinctly nervous. The expression is almost shy, and she wonders if the lip trapped between those pointed teeth is part of the role or not.

Erin can’t remember who initially proposed the game, but she is glad that they did. There is something about her lover dressed in her own old professor garb that is unexpectedly enticing. She flits her eyes over the outfit and the skin and the pose, and she thinks she understands Holtz’s affection for the tweed look.

More than affection. She can feel the heat stoked to flame in her abdomen, melting below. Her breath deepens and her palms are suddenly sweaty and she rubs them on the coarse, paint spattered cotton of her overalls.

Her own outfit, culled from Holtz’s extensive and mismatched wardrobe. Messy overalls and a cut-off t-shirt that leaves her abdomen exposed at the sides, a shiver passing over her skin in the slightly too-cool air of the deserted office. Combat boots to complete the look, odd socks, the weight of a _screw you_ hanging about her neck.

She’ll never know how Holtz gets her hair to do that thing; in the end she had just given up and tied her own back in a sloppy ponytail. But the overall image is close enough, and she thinks together they must paint quite the picture.

She steps closer to Holtz, takes her hands and looks deep into the tremulous blue. The pupils staring back at her are blown wide already, nerves and anticipation controlling her lover’s response. Erin can feel the quickened breathing between them, imagines the heat from her own flushed cheeks.

Holtz’s gaze flicks down after a moment or two and a tiny, bitten-off groan issues from her lips.

“Fuck.”

Erin knows the cause of the exhalation; can feel the weight of it on her hips and knows the evidence of it is pressing against the front of her overalls. Not crudely so, but just enough to _hint_.

It’s not the way they always come together, but when they do Holtz always bends so beautifully under Erin. Melts for it, begs for it, demands that Erin give her everything. That is exactly what they both want from this game.

They settle a little into their roles, feeling the boundaries of the scene. It’s a slow bubbling reaction between them at first, desire building to counter any acid of uncertainty.

Holtz leans back against the desk, then lifts herself so she is sitting on the edge. She beckons, a slow curl of an index finger and Erin drifts closer, pulled into her orbit. Caught, since the day they met.

She pauses, inches from Holtz’s knee. Waits for their spin to slow, to synchronise. Waits for one to stop, or go, and drag the other along. Holtz goes first, narrows her eyes and sighs dramatically. It’s over the top, but everything about this encounter needs to be.

“We’ve got a little problem here, Er- _Miss Gilbert_.”

The stumble is enough to remind them that although it’s a dangerous game they play, it is still a game. Reassures any moral doubt that Erin might have had about the scene they have chosen, resolves the ethical question.

“What problem… Professor?”

“Your final exam. Did you even study at all?”

Erin doesn’t answer, scuffs the floor with her booted toe.

“Miss Gilbert. You need to pass this class to keep your place at this college. I don’t want to fail you, but at this rate I’m going to have to.”

“The semester’s practically over. How am I supposed to pass now?”

Holtz sighs again, adopts an exaggeratingly thoughtful expression.

“I don’t usually _put myself out_ there for lazy students, Miss Gilbert. But there is _one_ way you could make up for your poor academic performance. Enough to keep you at Columbia.”

Erin is emboldened. Folds her arms across her chest and slouches her body a little. Affects a bored posture, madly at odds with the excitement tensing in her every muscle.

“Oh yeah? What’s that, Professor?”

No reply, just a raised eyebrow and a slow, wide smile.

Erin watches her, pushing back and charging the space between them with a playful confusion. She can’t hold for long, though, and then she breaks.

“ _Oh_.”

“Mm.”

They shift, and there wasn’t supposed to be any kind of power play tonight, but when Holtz leans back a little on her arms, Erin blindly obeys. When Holtz pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and very deliberately spreads her legs, Erin is a slave.

It’s calculated, cruelly seductive. A saucily feminine move so unlike Holtz and all at once so boldly _her_ , that Erin nearly crumples before its power.

Erin’s aroused and aching and she knows she’s bound solely to her lover’s whim, this time.

“O-okay.”

“Touch me.”

Erin does. Runs her fingers slowly up stockinged legs, from bent knee to the bare flesh at the top of those wantonly spread thighs. Then a little higher, and Erin’s hands stop and she trembles and she exhales, sharp and loud.

The skirt and the shadow hide the detail well. Holtz isn’t wearing any underwear.

Erin’s shaking finger catches a tease of exposed flesh, a tickle of a tiny curl, a brief taste of honey desire there. She strokes, once, and the woman under her hums appreciatively. She rubs a little firmer and Holtz _moans_ , a filthy little sound that Erin knows is all for her benefit. She smiles.

Her partner is wet and clearly wanting and it sends answering pangs of want to Erin’s own centre, but she manages to lift her gaze and hold it to Holtz’s face for a moment. Stills her touch and waits for the look and the spluttered encouragement.

“D-don’t _stop_!”

Erin curls the fingers of her left hand into the meat of Holtz’s thigh, holding her steady, while her other hand resolutely resumes its movements. Brushes her lover’s folds, a knuckle across her entrance, to focus on her clit. Notes the little shivers and purrs of pleasure and mirrors it in her motions as she presses and caresses.

Holtz builds rapidly, as she always does. Erin enjoys the way the way the soft flesh warms and swells and firms beneath her fingertips. The sounds she hears, the little gasps and moans and _fucks_ , are a mellow symphony of encouragement and she dips below to gather a little of her lover’s gathered arousal, then back up to drag over and around her clit.

Her lover is shaking, on the cusp, when she swears into the air and reaches towards Erin, a flailing arm.

Erin halts immediately. About to question, to gently reassure when she notes the fingers wrapping around her lower arm, pulling her hand away, tugging her from beneath the hiked-up skirt. Any words are scattered to incoherence when Holtz brings Erin’s hand to her own lips, opens her mouth and sucks the glistening fingers into her mouth.

Erin’s eyes bug and her knees threaten to buckle and she leans into the gap between Holtz’s legs, breathless. Leans in for something, a kiss, a taste, anything. Holtz releases Erin’s fingers with a pop and presses them flat and firm and damp against Erin’s own mouth and _pushes_. Pushes away and slightly down and Erin crumples to her knees and there is nothing she can do to stop herself from sinking.

She bunches the skirt up even higher about Holtz’s hips, brings her head forward as though an automatic reflex, and breathes in. It’s intense and the air about her is heavy with lust as she slowly runs her tongue out and over the hot flesh.

Holtz grinds out a dirty incentive, and Erin responds. Hoists one dangling leg up over her shoulder, firm calf and bent knee, and sets to work.

It’s not a tentative pursuit. She can taste her lover, hot and needy on her lips already, sweet running over her tongue. Erin hums and purrs and makes little noises of appreciation into Holtz’s flesh, licks and sucks and _devours_.

Holtz bucks into her, body betraying her will. But her words are a dirty reminder of their positions.

“This turning you on, Gilbert?”

Erin moans, an affirmation into heaven.

“You wanna touch yourself? Do it.”

Erin groans into her lover’s thigh and one hand drops instantly to obey. Palms the bulge between her legs, rubs and squeezes. It’s an oddly obscene act, despite the lack of actual stimulation. She tries pressing the weight of the toy into her crotch, shifts it against herself, chases a little more sensation.

Her desire is a slow glowing ember in her gut but a white hot hammer blow against her control and the sparks drive her efforts.

Erin feels the shudder as she takes Holtz’s swollen clit between her lips and sucks, enjoys the stutter as she flicks her tongue over it, once then twice then a third time. The body under her stiffens and warmth pulses against her, delicious and dripping.

Holtz comes, hard and long and loud, pushing herself roughly against Erin’s mouth until she is spent.

Then she sags. Drops a sloppy hand to Erin’s hair, drags it down and pats her cheek lazily, caressing over the flushed skin sticky with her own arousal.

“Good girl.”

It’s just a sigh, barely more than a satisfied breath, but Erin’s core pulses at the praise.

Holtz slides off the desk, unsteady on legs a little jellied. Erin half reaches to steady her as she straightens, rises to her own feet.

They stare at each other for a long minute, blackened eyes and cheeks blazing and hair curling and damp with sweat. Erin’s mouth is slack for a moment as she gets her breathing fully under control.

Holtz sucks in air along with her, then her lips twist, a smirk.

“Now, how about some extra credit?”

Holtz slowly turns around, puts her hands on the top of the desk and bends forward over it,the line of her spine curved and hips slightly raised, an invitation. Turns her head back over her shoulder to meet Erin’s widening eyes, and waits.

Erin utters something that could be an _oh fuck_ or another equally base and primal proclamation. Her hands shake and she can barely find the control to drop her overalls. They fall loosely about her knees and she tugs at the patterned boxers she’s wearing underneath, tugs them down just far enough.

Far enough so the toy strapped tight about her hips can stand free. It’s a wicked show of anticipation and Erin can’t bite back the deep accompanying moan as she wraps a hand loosely around the length.

Holtz responds to the sound. A slow shiver ripples her body from pointed toe to tossed back head and her eyes squeeze shut and she _mmm_ s, long and low and wordless but as clear a plea as can be. A shameless demand that Erin can not, _will not_ ignore.

Erin shuffles closer and kicks her lover’s legs apart. It’s a little rougher than necessary but it’s a welcome roughness, if the way Holtz’s hips jerk and her hands close into little fists are any indicators.

The loose pleats of the skirt are soon pushed back up and over the pale flawless curve of Holtz’s ass and Erin takes a moment to run her palm across the warm skin, thumb brushing and fingers squeezing the muscle, ever so slightly. It’s a breathtakingly beautiful sight, her lover splayed and ready before her, wanting and provocative.

Erin dips her hand and swipes her fingers along swollen and soaking folds, testing her entrance with a quick flirt inside that makes Holtz push back, with all her body and her roughened voice.

“Come on, stud. You gonna fuck me or what?”

“God, yes. Ji- uh. _Professor_.”

Erin wastes no further time, rubs her wet fingers along the silicone and presses the head of the toy against Holtz. They breathe once, together, deep and heavy and then Erin digs her ten fingers deep into the flesh of Holtz’s waist and pulls her back and down as she drives her own hips forward in a single forceful thrust.

They settle for just a moment, just enough for Holtz to adjust and swallow her surprised cries. Erin withdraws, only a slight drag, and pushes in again. It’s harsher than they usually are, like this, but the pace is set. Holtz hiccups and gasps her approval, spits out chanting encouragements that accent the atmosphere, hot and close and heavy between them.

“Yes. Yes. _Fuck_ yes, just like that.”

Erin drops her head to see the thickness of the toy disappearing between Holtz’s spread thighs. She can see the extent of her lover’s arousal, can feel it on her own skin as their bodies meet.

Their joining is harsh and quick, and rough and dirty and delicious, and painfully erotic and coloured differently to their earlier play. Erin feels their dynamic alter and rebalance to fit the shape of the moment, shifting liquid as they tilt into one another.

Every time, Erin feels it.

They are flawed, together and apart, and yet perfection.

Erin smooths her hand over the perfect form writhing under her, fascinated. Feels how soft skin gives and firm flesh ripples before the force of her own body.

She lifts her palm and brings it back down in time with her next thrust. Not hard, but it’s a little sharp, and Holtz’s spine arches and her mouth spews filth. It’s sugar in Erin’s ear and she does it again, again.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. _Erin_.”

The name slips out and the game is slipping from their grasp too, now, but Erin has one more play to make.

She curls forward, long body leaning over Holtz’s hips. Hands planted either side of her lover’s back. Slows her thrusts to small, deliberate drags that make the body beneath her twitch and shiver deliciously, and opens her mouth.

“You know what I think, Professor? I think you failed me on purpose. Am I right?”

“Uhhhh…”

“I saw you staring at me. You’ve wanted me all semester. Wanted _this_.”

She punctuates the last word with a firmer push of her hips, pressing deeper, finding the angle.

Holtz stiffens, body bending into the sudden acute stimulation. Erin works her motions even tighter, more precisely. Tiny circular pushes that leave Holtz shaking and hanging from the edge.

“ _Is_ this what you wanted, Professor? To be underneath me like this?”

“Yes!”

“Coming on my cock?”

“Y-yes.”

Erin nods and drops her head. Grins a toothy grin, feral against the tweed-covered line of a shoulder. She doesn’t bite down; there’s not an inch left uncovered by the material, but the desire and intent is clear in the moist air blasted against her lover’s neck.

“Come. Now.”

Holtz does, and it’s spectacular. An uncontrolled explosion, a chain reaction leaping from point to point and leaving them both overwhelmed by force and blinded by intensity.

Clenching fingers and shaking legs, a rush of warmth and a long sound, not quite a scream but more than a moan. A stream of blasphemies and prayers and _Erin_ , _Erin_.

Erin stills through the aftershocks, presses a kiss to her lover’s ear then eases back and out of her, stroking lightness and love over her skin when Holtz whimpers.

She steps away and tucks the toy into her soaked boxers, pulls her overalls up by one strap over her shoulder and heaving chest. The office door is close by, and within the rules of their game she could leave, leave her lover wrecked and messy and satisfied on the desk.

But they aren’t in the game any more, and she casts an awestruck eye over the sight below her, this beautiful woman shook apart just for her.

Erin’s heart surges and she takes Holtz in her arms, small and still trembling, and eases them both to the floor. Whispers something like beauty in her ear, love and praises gliding off her tongue like the perfect truths they are.

Minutes pass, bodies slowly returning to their calm equilibriums.

“Erin?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a terrible student. But damn, you’re a good lay.”

Erin chuckles.

“I learn from the best, Jill. You’re amazing.”

“Mm. So are you. I mean, _hot_ _damn_ , hot stuff! I went stratospheric for a moment there.”

Erin blushes a little, lost beneath the flush. Offers a kiss in lieu of a reply. Gentle, precious, slowly building as her body remembers the unresolved ache.

They break apart. Erin takes Holtz’s hand in hers, pulls it away from where it has begun to creep with purpose.

“Come on. Let’s get home before you destroy me.”

“Yeah. Count on that.”

Erin closes her eyes against the anticipation. Rises to her feet and Holtz follows, less than gracefully.

“Erin?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“How _did_ you ever wear these shoes all day?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> And we're done. I am sad :(
> 
> But still: seven days, seven fics. A crazy cosmo is a productive cosmo, yes?
> 
> Poke me on [tumblr](https://cosmotronic87.tumblr.com/) if you want to disturb the bees.


End file.
